


Pride Month

by MickeyJrWrites



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-24 12:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MickeyJrWrites/pseuds/MickeyJrWrites
Summary: Found some cute pride month prompts on Tumblr, so let's give this a shot.





	1. First kiss

 

 

Natasha had plenty of firsts. In fact, she didn’t think there were many things she hadn’t done yet. Most of those firsts were forced on her but nevertheless, they were firsts.

Her first friendship had been with another girl in the Red Room. They would whisper together until the early hours of morning, sharing dreams and hopes and wishes for their future. They’d shared tears of frustration and fear. Natasha would even share some of her food with her, when she was particularly hungry after a rough day.

Her first murder had been in the Red Room too, when she hadn’t been careful enough during a hard training and she had cracked and yelled at their teachers to leave her friend alone. She never befriended another girl after that again.

Her first kiss happened coincidentally during her first mission. She was barely thirteen and he was much older, too much older. But apparently that was exactly why they send her, a little girl, to take care of it. He took some other first from that night too, Natasha tried to never think about it.

Her first ‘I love you’ had been a lie. And she didn’t feel guilty about it anymore. She didn’t even feel guilty when she left his bloody corpse in the middle of the bathroom floor while she walked off with the blueprints she needed. Love, after all, was for children.

So when Maria asks her out it’s by no means a first for Natasha. At least it shouldn’t be. But Natasha is floored because it actually kinda is.

It’s the first time _Maria_ asked. It’s the first time _Maria_ stood there in front of her, with her big blue eyes and only the slightest hint of nervousness in her posture. And people have been nervous in front of Natasha before, but it’s the first time _Maria_ is nervous in front of her. It’s the first time _Maria_ looks at her like that.

And when Natasha says yes, because honestly she can’t come up with a different answer, it’s the first time _Natasha_ says yes. Not Natalia, or Natalie, or Nat, or whoever she’s pretending to be. It’s _Natasha_. Because _Maria_ asked _Natasha_ out and that has never happened before.

So when Natasha says yes, and of course she does because who the hell wouldn’t, Maria smiles. A little smile of relief and excitement and it’s the first time Natasha sees that smile on Maria’s lips. But she really hopes it won’t be the last time because wow, that’s a good smile.

They go out the next day because they don’t get much time off. Seize the moment, Maria had said, and Natasha had agreed. Because Natasha had said yes for the first time and Maria was coming to pick her up for the first time so that they could go out on a date for the first time. They. The two of them. _Natasha_ was going on a date with _Maria_ for the first time.

Maria takes her to this little place that serves apparently the best Italian food. And Natasha has known since her second week at SHIELD when she hacked into the Commander’s file that she was a sucker for good Italian. But it’s the first time _Maria_ tells her about her love for anything Italian and it changes things, doesn’t it? Because Maria offers up everything so easily, without Natasha having to manipulate the conversation into the direction she needs it to be going. And it’s not the first time Natasha has fun, she’s a sad case but not that sad. It’s not her first real conversation either. Not at all. But it is the first time she has this much fun with _Maria_ and it is the first time she shares so much with _Maria_ and it changes things, doesn’t it?

But it isn’t until after, when Maria has paid for their dinner (and that’s the first time _Maria_ paid for their dinner), and Maria offers to walk her back home (and that’s the first time _Maria_ has walked her home), and Maria tries and fails to stay casual when she intertwines her fingers with Natasha’s (and holy shit that’s the first time _Maria_ has held her hand), that Natasha might start to get it.

Because Maria looks at her and asks for maybe a second date please? And she’s looks slightly less nervous than when she asked her on their first date but still a little nervous nonetheless. It’s the first time _Maria_ asked her out on a second date.

So Natasha hooks her arms around Maria’s neck and pulls her down into their first kiss. And she’s done this before, she may have done everything before but she gets it now. It doesn’t matter that she’s done this before. Because it’s the first time she’s kissing _Maria_ , and it’s the first time _Maria’s_ lips feel so soft against hers and it’s the first time _Maria_ tightens her arms around her.

It doesn’t matter that she’s done this before. It doesn’t matter if it’s the first time. All that matters is that she’s doing this with _Maria_.

 

 


	2. Pets

 

 

Natasha didn’t like dogs, Maria was pretty sure of that. Not many spies or agents did like dogs. Because while dogs do make great companions, they are also a pretty nifty security system and there really isn’t that much one can do to incapacitate them other than just plain shoot them.

And nobody likes shooting dogs.

So a dog was always off the table.

There’s the other classics she considers, but fish or birds aren’t very affectionate and isn’t that the whole point of getting a pet? Locking an animal up in a house to force it to give you love?

Maria isn’t even sure why she’s even thinking about it. She’s never owned a pet before and she knows neither has Natasha, they don’t know the first thing about animal care. And it’s not like they’re home a lot, not with helicarriers and foreign missions and goddamn apocalypses.

But they have all this space. All this space and only two people to fill it. And helicarriers and foreign missions rarely require the two of them to be present, so all this space sometimes tends to be pretty empty.

It doesn’t help that Natasha has been gone for two months now, when she should have been back after just a few weeks. It doesn’t help either that her mission started in New Zealand but Maria doesn’t really know where she is right now.

People speculate about the nature of their relationship all the time, like they are allowed to take guesses at their private lives. Their ideas about the love she shares with Nat are generally outrageous. Maria can’t really understand how they come up with it. Sometimes they describe Natasha like a stray, and Maria just took her in like that out of an ingrained sense of duty. Sometimes they share a strictly sexual relationship, the sex bordering on abuse. But apparently they both get off on that. Always, their relationship is cold, a matter of convenience. Never affectionate, never loving.

It’s… It’s something that makes Maria’s blood boil.

Because they just can’t see Natasha the way Maria does.

Natasha is… Natasha is everything. She cooks to the beat of some sort of popsong every night, swaying and humming along with her back to Maria and Maria _has_ to watch her.

And at night, when Natasha curls up to her, her red hair always tickles Maria’s face. Natasha thinks it’s hilarious when Maria tries to blow it out of her face. It never works, but it makes Natasha chuckle anyway.

Gods, she misses her Nat.

And their shared home is quiet and still and _lonely_ without Natasha to curl up to her. Maria might pretend that she wants a pet for Natasha, but honestly, she just wants one for herself.

When Natasha comes back, whenever that will be, she’ll talk to her about it. Her wife always knows best.

 

 


	3. Affirmation

 

 

“You’re a good person Natasha.”

“Nat, you _are_ worthy of love.”

“You’re a hero Romanoff.”

Maria can’t count how many times she’s said those things to the redhead. Like an endless loop of support. She can repeat it a thousand times more, and it won’t make it any less sincere or any less true. Because Natasha _is_ a hero and Natasha _is_ so very much loved.

And if she can’t see that, Maria will repeat it until the day she dies because Natasha should be told all those things and more. And Maria will repeat it with all the love and patience in the world.

And through it all, Maria can’t believe Natasha actually listens to her. Natasha, a hero, an Avenger, will sit on her couch in her crap apartment and she listens to Maria.

Maria has trouble believing it sometimes. She knows she’s a good leader for her agents, and she knows she gives great pep talks, but there’s a difference between rallying the troops and having an actual superhero hang onto her words like they’re her lifeline.

She doesn’t always understand why Natasha comes to her after hard missions, but she does.

But tonight she knows Natasha won’t come. Because the world is laying in ruins again and Maria tried, she did her very best but she couldn’t do anything about it. The Avengers has to come in and save the day because Maria couldn’t get a handle on things.

She tried, but she just wasn’t good enough.

And now other people had to go in and clean her mess.

At least she wouldn’t have a broken superhero on her couch tonight. Natasha had looked pleased with their intervention when Maria briefly caught sight of her. Maybe it’s for the best, Maria isn’t sure she could cheer anyone up tonight.

They won, sure, but it doesn’t feel like victory when all you do is stand in the way of the actual heroes.

Maria sighs when she plops down on her couch. Not bothered to change out of her dirty clothes. Not bothered even to take a beer out of the fridge. Her bones feel like lead, dragging her down onto the couch and keeping her there.

She has work in the morning, reports to write, people to apologize to for the mess they made. The mess she made. She’s just trying to save the world but all it ever does is get more dangerous.

And they can’t deal with more dangerous. She’s only human. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? She’s only human. She’s not a superhero, she’s not exceptional, she’s just human.

She has work in the morning and she’ll do her damned best again, but that will be tomorrow. Not tonight. Not tonight.

She’ll pick up the pieces tomorrow, but for this night, she’s just going to let her shattered soul ache. And she does ache. For all the lives she lost, keeps losing, under her command. Under her responsibility.

It’s nights like these that she can’t remember why she’s still doing this job. When she does it all, she does everything, tries everything, screams commands until her voice is hoarse and they still lose. And she knows they’re on the right side, she knows they are the ones fighting the good fight, protecting, and they still lose.

It’s not fucking fair.

If it wasn’t for the Avengers… She wouldn’t have a job, because there wouldn’t be a world to look out for anymore.

Maria distantly hears her door open, and goes to show how awful she feels, because she doesn’t even bother to reach for her gun. Not in a “I hope someone will shoot me” kind of way. Just in a “whether I pull my gun now or in five seconds, it won’t make much of a difference” kind of way. A gun is only useful when you see your opponent, no point in waving it around when you can’t even see them. That’s how accidents happen.

“You’re going soft Commander?” Natasha’s teasing lilt fills her ears, apparently the redhead did expect some sort of violent act, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

Natasha frowns down upon her, “We won.”

“You did.”

“We did.” Natasha corrects, “Why…?”

She doesn’t have to ask the question for Maria to understand what she wants to say.

_Why are you sitting around in your dirty field suit?_

_Why aren’t you happy?_

Maria just shrugs, “Sometimes victory is…”

Natasha sits down on the couch with her, “Sometimes it is.”

Because she gets it. She feels it too.

“Sometimes, victory doesn’t feel like winning when you lose so much in the process.” Natasha says softly, “But it still is a victory.”

“Not mine. Not today.”

Natasha tilts her head, “You did the best you could. You weren’t exactly dealt a great hand to begin with. But you did everything you could. We won Maria.”

“The Avengers won. I just… I just watched.”

“That’s bullshit.” Natasha doesn’t do comforting very well, “You were the one who decided to call us for back up. You were the one who figured out where Stark needed to go. You got Clint off that rooftop when he ran out of arrows.”

Maria shrugs again. Of course she did, anyone could have.

“You’re the one who told me to duck for cover when that alien shot at me.”

“As if you didn’t see him coming from a mile away.”

Natasha shakes her head, “I didn’t. I hadn’t seen him at all. If you hadn’t seen him, I would have gotten shot. I’d probably be dead.” It’s not a big statement, just a casual observation.

“You saved me today Maria.” Natasha mutters, “You’re a hero.”

 

 


	4. Closet

 

 

“What are you _wearing?_ ” Clint balks. He’s Natasha in all sorts of outfits over the years. Evening gowns, catsuits, sweatpants… Hell, he’s even seen her naked a few times.

But this…

“Clothes, Barton. I’m wearing clothes.” She sasses him, and oooooh boy, that can only mean good things, because if she was just wearing clothes, she would not feel the need to snap at him, now would she?

For a super spy, she’s surprisingly easy to read sometimes.

“I’ve never seen you wear that hoodie before.” Clint tries so hard to supress a grin, but it’s still tugging at lips, “I thought you said blue isn’t your color? That is very blue Nat.”

Natasha glares a little, “First thing I found on my floor. I was in a hurry.”

“How long have you owned this?” He ignores her swatting hands to poke at a hole in the sleeve, “This thing looks _ancient_.”

“Get off me Clint!”

Oh he is definitely on the something, he can just see it in the way she pulls the sleeves over her hands and huddles a little deeper into the thinning fabric of.

“It’s comfortable, okay? Leave me alone.”

He cocks his head, really taking in her appearance, “It’s not even your size. It’s like… a good two sizes too big…”

“Comfortable.” Natasha repeats again, but really, if she was so fond of the damn sweater, he’d have seen it before, wouldn’t he?

“That is not a woman’s sweater…” it clicks, and ooooh boy, it _is_ good, “Oh Nat, you little Russian _freak_ , that is not your sweater! You didn’t find it on _your_ floor! You found it on someone else’s floor!”

“I will maim you. I will disfigure you to the point Laura won’t even recognize you anymore.”

“Who is he? It must be pretty serious if you’re wearing his clothes?” Clint isn’t even fazed by the random threats to his life, it’s just one of those things that comes with being friends with Natasha.

“I will string you up by your dick and use you for target practice.”

“Who is he?”

“Clint drop it!”

He pauses for a second, she’s completely wrapped up in the sweater, arms pulled tightly around herself and he can’t remember her ever looking so vulnerable.

“Nat… Are you okay? It’s not…” He searches for the right words, “It’s not a mission, is it? You’re not… You’re not _seeing_ someone for SHIELD, are you? Because that’s not right… You don’t have to do that ever again, yeah?”

She smiles a little smile, one that rarely ever makes it out of the comfort of their homes, “It’s not for SHIELD… it’s just… it’s not what you think, okay? And I…”

He nods once, relieved, “It’s too new, say no more.”

She nods too.

And they stare at each other for a minute, a little uncomfortable.

“Agents, if you both will follow me? We don’t have all day.” Maria’s voice clips through their silence. With a flick of her head, she indicates that they should follow her and they easily fall in line behind their commander.

“Technically, it’s still night.” Barton quips.

“Technically, I don’t really care.” Maria shoots back easily, “Nice sweater Romanoff.”

 

* * *

 

 

That was the first time it happened, but it certainly wasn’t the last.

Over the next weeks, Natasha keeps showing up in sweaters and jackets that Clint has never seen before. Only when they’re called in at night though, or in the weekends. When they’re supposed to be off work and are trying to relax from whatever hell they just crawled out of, that’s when she wears someone else’s clothes.

She’s tries to play it cool, and it would work probably, if they both weren’t special agents trained to figure out other people’s dirty little secrets.

And maybe it is too new to really sit down and talk about it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get to tease her about it.

“You do not watch ice hockey!” Clint wags an accusing finger at the jersey Natasha is sporting tonight, and he’s having so much fun with it.

Natasha shrugs, “What do you know? Russia has very good teams.”

“The Canucks aren’t a Russian team, Nat.” Clint smirks, “In fact… Do you even know _where_ they play?”

Natasha stays silent, much too his glee.

“If I hadn’t told you they’re a hockey team, would you have known?”

“Fuck off Barton.”

“Please don’t kill each other.” Maria interrupts, “I need you both for this clusterfuck of a mission.”

“Wow, I’m really feeling the love Hill.”

“This isn’t kindergarten,” Maria smirks a little, “Canucks, eh? Good choice Romanoff.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s Saturday and they haven’t been called in, not yet at least. He’s staying at the Stark Towers tonight, Tony promised some sort of epic movie night.

Maria is already waiting on the giant couch. He’s seen her in the Towers before, at least once a week. But that was always for business, Clint doesn’t think he’s ever seen her like this, in sweatpants and a hoodie, feet tucked under her, looking way more comfortable on that large couch than he’s ever seen at SHIELD.

“Hey there, didn’t know you’d be here.” He greets friendly, plopping down next to her on the couch.

“Hmm, Nat invited me.” She says, tugging the sleeves of her blue sweater over her hands. It’s just slightly too big for her and it looks insanely comfortable, “She’s getting popcorn.”

Oh good, he _loves_ popcorn.

“Oh, hey Nat.” He waves, more to the popcorn than to Natasha, but hey, it’s popcorn.

Natasha glares harshly, “You need to move.”

Clint has to frown a little, “Come on, she was sitting here first, don’t chase her off on her first movie night…” He pats the free spot next to him, “You can sit here.”

“I’m not talking to Maria. _You_ need to move.”

Clint rolls his eyes and pats the couch again, “This spot is still free.”

“Barton.” Natasha’s voice raises a little, “You are in my spot. Move.”

“This is _not_ your spot,” He points to the solitary armchair in the corner, “That is your spot, because you always refuse to sit next to anyone else. What’s the big deal? It’s a giant couch! Just sit.”

“Barton.”

“Okay, stop you guys.” Maria says, and then adds more softly than Clint thought she could, “ _Nat_ , I’ll scoot, okay? You can sit between us.”

Clint has been around Natasha for years, he knows her. Or he knows everything she wants to let him know. And never has he ever seen this. This posture of… petulance? Hesitancy?

It’s _weird_.

“No it’s okay guys… I’ll move.” He’s barely out of the way or Natasha pools herself onto the couch in a way he just hasn’t ever seen before. Angling her body towards Maria, obviously to offer her popcorn because why else?

He sits on the other side of the couch, trying not to watch but it’s _weird_.

He’s never seen Maria this casual before, and Natasha is wearing one of those oversized borrowed sweaters from her mysterious boyfriend and it’s weird.

One by one, the others trickle in, eventually starting the movie but they don’t say anything about Maria being there, or Natasha actually sitting on the couch.

He calls it a quirk of the trade, Laura calls it professional voyeurism, but he just likes to watch. And he doesn’t mean the movie.

He knows something isn’t like it was two months ago. Ever since he caught on to Natasha wearing someone else’s clothes, he’s noticed other things too. She’s happier, easier, more relaxed. She’s gone softer. Not on the job, of course not, she’s still fiercely dangerous. But sometimes, in the early hours of the night, he can see just how she’ll wrap herself in whatever piece of clothing she’s wearing and her shoulders will sag just a little and she’ll smile.

It’s almost… cute.

He watches her now too, drowning in a hideously old red sweater. She’s not watching the movie, her feet are pulled under her, and she’s completely focused on Maria instead.

His hearing isn’t good at all, but he can see them whispering softly to each other. Whatever conversation they’re having, Natasha seems really relaxed. He actually didn’t know she and Maria were friends. They were kind enough at the office, but he didn’t know they hung out outside of their hours.

But they obviously did, because that smile on Natasha’s face only appears around people she’s really comfortable with.

He watches as Natasha starts to fiddle with the sleeves of Maria’s blue sweater. It’s odd, he’s never known Natasha to fiddle. She’s not the kind of person to fiddle.

Her fingers dance up Maria’s arm, stopping to poke through what seems like a hole in the sleeve.

A hole.

In the sleeve.

Of an oversized old blue sweater.

“Holy shit!” He squeaks loudly. He doesn’t mean to be so loud. But _Holy shit_.

Everyone turns to him. And he _sees_ something change in Natasha’s eyes because she knows he knows. She veers away from Maria, creating a space that almost hurts his heart too.

“What?!” Tony demands, pausing the movie.

Natasha looks at him…

“Nothing… I thought I saw something.” Clint brushes off, “Play the movie, man. It’s no big deal.”

“You sure?” Tony asks, “Everything okay?”

He looks at Natasha, staring her dead in the eyes.

“Everything is perfect.”

 

 


	5. Flowers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Avesnongrata for telling me that Maria should have a fish as an office buddy :-P

 

 

It’s with a sigh that Maria closes her office door behind. It’s Friday, she’s been working for less than two hours for god’s sake, she should not be feeling like this.

But in her hand, her fourth cup of coffee is causing her skin to prickle with the heat. Her fourth cup, on a _Friday_.

“The incompetence…” She mutters, “Really, Eric, _you_ could be a better Senator.”

She pats the tank once while sitting down, probably scaring the living daylights out of her dumb fish.

He was a gag gift from Coulson, but she grow oddly fond of him and now he was her go-to partner when everyone around just seemed too stupid to be allowed to breathe. At least Eric didn’t try to mansplain her own fricking job to her.

Another sigh escapes her when she eyes the stack of papers she has to fill out, knowing that nobody will ever even read them. And if they do read them, they won’t even understand.

“Bunch of dumbasses.”

She’d never let anyone catch her letting loose like this, she’s much too professional, but this is her office, her space. She can swear as much as she wants too.

Maria grabs the first file, ready to start signing off on things she hadn’t been able to dream of when she started at SHIELD.

She wants to grab her pen from the old chipped mug that won’t hold any liquid anymore, but she’s too sentimental to throw it out, but her hand hovers. That’s not her pen… It _is_ her pen. But there’s another pen in her mug. And that one is not hers.

Pens migrate, Maria knows, pens and single socks will always find ways to just disappear into thin air. And she can’t remember the times she’s picked up a pen only to wonder where the everloving fuck it came from.

So it shouldn’t be this weird to find a stray pen in her office, but it is, because this isn’t just some stray pen. It’s shiny and _nice_. It’s a really nice pen.

It goes to show what kind of shit Maria encounters on a daily basis, because finding a pen should _not_ be this scary. There’s a little voice at the back of her head, telling her that maybe it isn’t a pen, maybe it’s an assassination attempt.

With a handkerchief, because yes, she _is_ that paranoid, she carefully lifts the pen out of the mug. It’s surprisingly heavy, so either it isn’t a pen at all or it is a really fricking nice pen.

She turns it around, admiring the way her office lighting reflects on the silvery pen. And then she sees, engraved in beautiful gold script: Commander M. Hill, Director of SHIELD.

It’s beautiful.

Maria immediately calls the SHIELD bombsquad.

 

* * *

 

 

Hindsight is 20/20 so Maria doesn’t feel _too_ stupid for overreacting to finding a pen in her office. Though Agent Kruse had tried his very best to point out just how ridiculous it was to call a bombsquad on a pen.

He clearly hasn’t seen enough field action, Maria has vowed to set that straight.

She lets her door shut a little too harshly, not feeling refreshed at all after the weekend. First order of the day is as always feeding Eric.

Maria wouldn’t exactly call it therapeutic, it’s still a _fish_ after all, but it is oddly charming to watch the little flakes of food sink slowly while Eric chases them. It’s the only normal part of her day.

It’s early, too early. She likes beating traffic to get to work. Getting in when the night crew is just getting ready to leave, but the majority of the day workers haven’t arrived yet, it’s one of Maria’s favorite moments of the day. It’s the only time when it’s _calm_.

But it’s Monday and she kind of overslept, so she skipped breakfast and now she regrets it. SHIELD cafeteria is all the way down in the basement, and Maria is all the way up here in the tower but she’s hungry dammit. The little coffee corner always has those tiny waffles though, and Maria is pretty sure nobody has arrived yet, nobody she really cares about at least.

So she slips out of her office again, heading straight to the thermos of black slob that they dare to call coffee, but those tiny waffles… Maria would definitely hurt someone for those tiny waffles.

She checks to make sure nobody is watching when she grabs as many cookies as she can carry, hurrying back to her office.

She makes it without being spotted and spends the rest of her morning happily snacking.

When she’s finally able to leave her office again, it’s almost 5 in the afternoon, because it’s Monday and she was stupid enough to not work through the weekend for once so of course everything has gone to shit.

She’s tired and hungry and her back _aches_ , but she only has time for a quick coffee and then it’s back to trying to coerce the French government into handing over the extremely dangerous piece of alien weaponry that is capable of literally wiping away Western Europe.

Her office smells different when she walks back in, and it’s not her coffee. There’s a warm meal, steaming on her desk. It’s actual food, not SHIELD food.

Maria calls for security within 5 seconds.

 

* * *

 

Okay, there was no way she would blown up by a pen, and yes, she has to admit that the meal left for her wasn’t actually poisonous, but it very well could have been!

And it still doesn’t explain how all those things just appeared on her desk like that. Something is happening and Maria has decided that though it might not be an attempt on her life just yet, she’s not going to sit around and wait for something even more ominous to happen.

She has a very long shortlist of agents to keep an eye on, the ones that are just a little too arrogant for their own good, the ones with more ambition than skill and the ones that are just plainly put _assholes_.

She asks Coulson and Carter because she trusts them without a doubt. They divide her list between the three of them and that when the fun can start.

It takes them two days, but they finally manage to submit every agent on her list to a performance review. Performance review is just fancy SHIELD-speak for interrogation.

Nothing sticks out. Nobody on her list is more than just a flawed human. No exceptional creeps. Nobody who would be dumb enough to break into her office to leave her gifts.

Maria sighs, she’s starting to get the feeling that maybe it’s her. Maybe she’s just overreacting, being exceptionally paranoid.

But who would do such a thing? Who would break into her office?

She loves her office, it’s her space and now it feels compromised.

Maria can’t believe they haven’t figured out who did it. And it’s going to keep bothering her until she knows. But SHIELD work doesn’t take a break, so she has to go back to work.

As soon as she opens the door, it hits her. The smell. Flowers. Her entire office is covered in flowers, even Eric’s tank has a flower put on top.

Her eyes water, her entire office is filled with damn flowers. Her throat starts closing up instantly, it’s just too many damn flowers. Pollen everywhere.

She struggles to catch a breath.

“Hey Maria, I was wondering if…” and then her vision goes black.

Death by flowers. That must be a new one.

 

* * *

 

She wakes up in the SHIELD medical wing. Her throat feels scratchy and her eyes hurt.

Commander Maria Hill, Director of SHIELD, incapacitated by a few flowers. Her pride hurts too.

As far as assassination attempts go, Maria has to admit that this one was pretty damn original.

“You’re awake.” It’s Natasha, staring at her from across the room, “You’re the most paranoid person I know.”

“Have you met yourself?” Maria rasps back and it earns her a slight grin from the Widow.

“You called a bombsquad on a _pen_.” Natasha says, “You thought you were being poisoned by a really good steak.”

Maria just shrugs, sure she’s a little embarrassed, but she hadn’t made it this far in life by not being careful.

“But when I try the most cliché trick in the book and fill your office with flowers, which are really fricking _expensive_ by the way, _that_ is when you decide to die on me?”

“Huh?”

“Dumb is not a good look on you Hill.” Natasha says softly.

“ _You_ were the one who tried to kill me?” Maria can’t believe it, after all these years, Natasha is going to defect? Why is she telling her this? Is she just here to finish the job?

Even then Natasha should have the sense to not admit her crimes and just get the job done.

“I did not try to kill you!” Natasha seems outraged. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

“Then why am I in the med wing?”

“How was I supposed to know that you’re allergic to flowers?”

“Why would you put flowers in my office in the first place?”

“To ask you out you idiot!”

 

 


	6. Coffeeshop

 

 

Natasha has heard people describing the SHIELD helicarrier as a flying fortress. And it kind of is. But it’s also so much more than that. Fortress doesn’t quite do justice to capture just how _massive_ the carrier actually is.

After months of duty, she still finds herself in new corridors at least once a week. And every day she sees new faces. Well that’s not entirely true, she’s so used to new agents just showing up, she doesn’t actually see them anymore.

The facilities in the carrier are beyond anything she thought possible too. She guesses that it does make sense, for months and months on end they live in this flying metal contraption, miles above solid ground or water. Natasha only spends time off the carrier when she’s on a mission or on mandatory leave.

So of course they have facilities to relax after a hard day’s work, because nobody can actually go home after their shift. Not Natasha, she never stops working, but for the agents on board, it’s necessary to just not be an agent for a few hours.

It’s easy to lose yourself, to lose your identity, when you’re literally trapped at work forever.

So SHIELD does the best they can, providing rec rooms, training rooms, a tiny supermarket for agents who’d prefer to cook their own meals after a long day… there’s even a cinema.

Barton once compared it to an all-in cruise. Fury had glared and threatened to kick him off without a parachute.

Natasha does not cook herself though, she can survive on her own when needed, but she never found cooking to be even remotely relaxing. Probably because she learned from a young age to see meals as a necessity rather than enjoyment. It’s just consuming calories so her body doesn’t fail her. Like fueling a jet.

So every evening, she finds herself lining up in an orderly queue at SHIELD canteen. If there’s any advantage to living at a top secret advanced semi-military base, it’s that everyone is just wonderfully strict and orderly. No chaos, no cutting lines.

Natasha allows herself a moment to scan the room. It’s busy at this time of the evening, and most tables are already taken. Not that it matters to her, she eats in her own quarters anyway. There’s a constant hum of conversation filling the canteen. While that normalcy of conversation flowing freely might be comforting to most people, Natasha finds herself distracted. It’s not calming to her in the least.

And then there’s the tiny nagging feeling that she knows she’d just be sitting all by herself in the canteen too. She squashes that down though. The Black Widow does not get lonely.

Her eyes falter over one of the agents, all the way in the back. She’s sitting by herself. Natasha has never seen her before, too fresh to have made any friends apparently. She’s glaring at her tablet while blindly shoveling food in her mouth. New, eager to prove herself.

The line moves up and Natasha’s focus shifts to what she’d like to eat tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Natasha finds herself in the canteen, the new agent is sitting exactly where she saw her last. This time she’s furiously typing on her laptop, 3 paper cups of Natasha assumes was coffee litter the table. SHIELD agents are clean, they wouldn’t leave their cups on the table, so Natasha knows they’re all from this new agent.

Natasha allows herself to give this new woman a once over while waiting for her panini to toast.

She seems… angry maybe isn’t the right word, but she does look stoic, hard. Impeccable posture, shoulders wide. Nearly aggressive body language. Definitely ex-military.

The woman brings a hand to her temple, clearly irritated, like she can’t quite believe what she’s having to deal with.

Natasha is intimately familiar with that feeling.

And then she looks up, like she knows she’s being watched. For a new agent… She should not be able to spot Natasha this easily. But she does, and Natasha suddenly finds herself subject to a curious, scrutinizing glare.

She should look away, or give the agent one of her own famous glares for daring to stare so blatantly at the Black Widow. But she allows this agent the luxury of trying to figure out anything from Natasha’s body language. If nothing else, it’ll be good practice for the woman.

The agent leans back a little in her seat, seemingly relaxed but then her arms cross over her chest in a protective gesture, so she’s clearly scoping out Natasha. Thoroughly.

Their eyes meet and Natasha is struck by how blue they are, even with such a distance between them. The agents raises a curious eyebrow, and Natasha could clearly interpret it as an invitation to come over, to come talk. It’s too much, too brazen, and Natasha grabs her own coffee and strides away, leaving her food on the counter.

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha starts looking for her. Not exactly _looks_ for her, but whenever she walks into a room, she does a quick scan to… well… she’s not entirely sure why she does it. But something about those blue eyes has Natasha on edge.

After a few days, the agent shows up in the canteen again. This time she has company. A blonde agent who Natasha only knows as agent 13. She’s a good shot, but her close combat skills are average at best. She does have some leverage with the higher ups at SHIELD, Natasha isn’t sure yet why, but it’s been one of her goals to figure out what the blonde agent has on them.

Tactically, it is a good move to befriend her. Agent Blue Eyes isn’t too dumb it seems.

The next time, she’s joined by Coulson, and it hits another nerve because she _trusts_ Coulson. He’s her handler, so what exactly is he doing canoodling with Agent Blue Eyes like that? Without informing her? How dare he.

She doesn’t ask though. Natasha might be curious, by nature and by nurture, but she does not meddle. If she’s supposed to get to know Agent Blue Eyes, someone will introduce them. And it’s not like she wants to know the agent. Not at all.

She’s just curious.

Agent Blue Eyes is friendly with a lot of people, Natasha spots her sharing lunch or coffee with different agents almost every day. It’s… It’s a good move. One that Natasha would have pulled too if she was even remotely interested in getting higher up. Agent Blue Eyes is a determined woman. Ambitious. And while that ambition could look like arrogance on some people, Blue Eyes carries herself with such an air of competence that it’s almost impossible to doubt her.

But that ambition certainly doesn’t make things easier for her. She might be friendly with people, but that doesn’t mean she’s friends with anyone. If she had friends, she wouldn’t spend her lunch break with different people every time.

It’s not like Natasha cares. She just notices. It’s her job. She doesn’t care.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a rough night, after an even rougher mission. Natasha is glad to be back on the carrier. Budapest was just… just too much, even for her.

She knows she won’t be able to close her eyes, she won’t dare to. The nightmares are eager in waiting in a corner of her mind, just waiting for to let her guard down and she can’t. She cannot deal with the nightmares tonight, not when they were this close to becoming a reality.

There’s a breakroom only three corridors away from her quarters, with soft plush couches and a giant TV and a tiny kitchen mostly stocked with snacks and sodas. Natasha doesn’t spend time there usually, she prefers the privacy of her quarters over the small talk of agents. But at this point in the night it doesn’t matter, nobody except for the night crew would still be up.

She turns on some dumb show she hasn’t seen before but the quality betrays its age. The volume stays low. She tries sometimes to turn the volume up as high as it can go, hoping that maybe it can drown out the demons in her head and heart. But the loss of control, the inability to hear whatever else is surrounding her is just not something Natasha can take.

So she chooses a gentle constant noise instead, just to break the silence.

She sinks into the sofa, breathing out long and heavily to let the tension pour out of her tired and aching body. It doesn’t work at all, because the door to the breakroom opens with a slight squeak and whatever tension managed to leave her body skyrockets instantly.

“Agent.” A clipped voice acknowledges her presence, “I didn’t realize anyone would still be up at this hour.”

Natasha notices how the other agent doesn’t apologize. Anyone else would. It seems like the polite thing to do when interrupting someone’s quiet time at nearly three in the morning. Especially when the person being interrupted is the Black Widow. But Natasha is in a common breakroom, so the agent isn’t overstepping, she does not _need_ to apologize. So she doesn’t. Natasha can appreciate that.

“Agent.” Natasha greets back curtly. She doesn’t turn around to look at the other agent and it seems like the good move because the woman starts busying herself in the kitchen without another word.

If it wasn’t for sounds of her movements, _indelicate_ , _hard_ , no finesse at all, and the smell of coffee filling the room, Natasha might have been able to forget about her presence.

Who even drinks coffee at three in the morning? SHIELD agents, that’s who. They recruit heavily from the military, people who have seen too much, felt too much. People who might be almost as afraid of their nightmares as Natasha is.

A mug is put on the little table in front of Natasha with a loud clank, and Natasha senses how the other agent sits down on one of the other seats.

It’s a common room, it shouldn’t bother her too much but it kind of does.

“That’s yours.” The agent says, short, but not harsh.

Natasha lifts her head to look at the steaming mug. Did she mean…?

“I heard about Budapest.” Is all the explanation the agent gives, and Natasha knows the mug is for her.

She hesitates, not sure what to make of this gesture, but she cradles the hot mug, feeling it sting her palms. The coffee is piping hot, black, and it smells so strong she probably shouldn’t drink it in the middle of the night, but she takes a grateful sip anyway.

“Did you…” Natasha sips again, “Did you spike this coffee?”

She finally looks at the other agent, seeing blue eyes shine with what Natasha thinks might be understanding. A little bit of mirth, but a twinge of sadness too.

Agent Blue Eyes just shrugs, “I heard about Budapest.”

 

 


	7. Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a direct follow up to the Coffeeshop chapter. Hope you'll all like it!

 

 

After that evening, that shared coffee, Natasha makes it a point to learn everything there is to know about the helicarrier. She needs to learn every nook and cranny of her flying base. She’s a spy after all, it’s only sensible to know her surroundings.

It’s not like she didn’t care before, she did, but now… She rediscovers her love of lurking in the shadows. Observing. Some might accuse her of not being able to let go of her work, being completely brainwashed, but this time she’s not working. It’s not a job.

It’s almost… fun.

For a former assassin at least.

There’s just something about learning about other agents’ habits, knowing where and how they spend their time off. She loves watching people, knowing they don’t know she’s there, in the shadows. There’s a thrill of potentially being caught, and there’s the thrill of getting away with it. It’s exhilarating.

And if she happens to stumble upon a certain blue-eyed agent… Well, that’s just coincidence.

She learns a lot though, hiding behind corners, blending into the crowd. Agent Blue Eyes goes by Maria Hill normally. Natasha still prefers Blue Eyes.

Her quarters are one floor down from Natasha’s. She’s a new agent, but she is making quite a name for herself. Natasha barely even had to try to fish for information, the other agents eagerly talk about her. Not always positive, not always kind, but always whispered, like they know that voicing their complaints out loud would not go over well. Fear is a form of respect, Natasha muses, and while the other agents aren’t afraid of Blue Eyes, Natasha thinks it won’t be too long until they learn better.

Natasha watches her fight, a few times, just coincidental. Her combat skills are _good_. Every punch thought out, wickedly hard. She still lacks in fluidity, every move carries that same hard edge. But she learns fast, Natasha knows she’ll improve. Blue Eyes seems like the kind of woman who is too stubborn to not be the best at something.

And every night, at three in the morning, the agent goes to the breakroom to drink exactly one cup of coffee, leaving as soon as she finishes the cup. It’s like she doesn’t want to sleep.

Natasha watches her from a distance, she hasn’t been in the breakroom since their first, and last, conversation. If she could even call it a conversation. She wonders if Agent Blue Eyes spikes her own coffee too, or if it was just a special touch for Natasha only.

It’s distracting, the curiosity, and a little confusing too. There are plenty of new agents on the helicarrier, plenty of people to bother and to follow around and yet, for some reason, she always finds herself spotting Agent Blue Eyes in any crowd.

That night, nearly two weeks after their shared coffee, after the nightmare that was Budapest, Natasha finds herself in the breakroom at 2.55 in the morning. 5 minutes before she knows the other agent will show up.

She adopts a casual posture, and while she has noticed that Blue Eyes is very observant, not even she can look through the Widow playing a part.

3 AM and the door creaks open, Natasha is watching this time and she can spot the second of hesitancy in the agent before she snaps back to her usual stoic posture.

“Agent.” She greets perfunctorily, moving straight to the little kitchen.

Natasha nods her head, “Agent.”

She watches the sure movements of the other agent, the routine, the discipline. It’s very intriguing. Natasha would love to know what makes this woman tick.

After a long silence, Blue Eyes sighs once, “I can feel your eyes on me.”

Natasha doesn’t try to deny it. Instead she voices something that has been bothering her all along, “Budapest was way above your clearance level.”

“It was.” The agent answers easily and when she turns to Natasha, she’s holding two mugs again, “Not spiked this time.”

“Pity.” Natasha accepts it nevertheless, “How did you know what happened?”

“I didn’t.” Blue eyes admits, “I just heard it was bad.”

They stay silent after that. Natasha doesn’t have anything else to ask, so she sips the coffee gratefully. It’s too hot, too strong, too much to be drinking in the middle of the night but she would sell Clint for another cup because _damn_ Agent Blue Eyes knows how to make coffee.

Coffee gone, so goes Agent Blue Eyes with barely more than a nod and it leaves Natasha even more curious than she was before.

 

* * *

 

 

“Agent.” Natasha greets her first tonight, as soon as the door creaks and she’s pleased to see the agent jump just the tiniest bit.

She only gives a slight nod, no greeting today. Too bad, Natasha kind of appreciates her overly professional tone.

A mug of coffee is pressed into her hands after a long silence. Natasha feels like she should say something.

“You seem friendly with Agent Coulson lately.”

Blue Eyes cocks her head, “I am friendly with a lot of people.”

Natasha nods, “You care a lot about the political.”

“Maybe you don’t care enough.”

She’s been accused of a lot of things in her lifetime, but never of not caring about politics. Natasha raises an eyebrow as a silent invitation to go on.

“This,” Agent Blue Eyes motions around them, “This is as political as it gets. It would do you well to care a lot.”

“SHIELD isn’t dependent on government.”

The agent snorts, “You think I’m dumb? Because I know you aren’t. SHIELD is dependant on _every_ government.”

“We don’t keep to their laws.”

“Bullshit.” Blue Eyes counters, “All we need to do is piss off one person, just one idiot with a finger close enough to a few missiles and it’s all over. This is politics at its rawest.”

Natasha knows of course. As secret as their base is, a giant floating _and_ flying metal contraption the size of a city is not possible to keep completely hidden. And if someone is in fact crazy enough to attack them… Well it’s not like a city can just swerve out of the way of a rocket. As genius as a portable base is, they’re basically sitting ducks.

This agent is not only observant, she is whipsmart. Natasha can’t help but be impressed.

“I care about the political too.” She feels the need to add. Because she does, of course she does, she’d be an awful spy if she didn’t.

“You’re a spy.” The Agent concedes, “I am a soldier. I don’t do as well when it comes to subtlety.”

“You’ll learn.” Because Natasha knows she will, “And you’re not a soldier anymore. You’re an agent of SHIELD.”

“I think I’ll always remain a soldier.”

It’s muttered quietly, like it’s not meant to be said out loud, and suddenly, Natasha feels like she’s invading. She downs the rest of her coffee a little too quickly and stands up.

“Goodnight agent.”

“Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

Natasha goes back to the breakroom the next night despite her better judgement.

Agent Blue Eyes is already there, coffee waiting.

“I spiked it.” She doesn’t greet her with that cold agent-crap.

Natasha nods, grateful for the heads up. A little whiskey in her coffee won’t get her drunk, but she appreciates that the other agents gives her the choice.

“Rough day?” Natasha pretends not to know how the agent got her first real assignment today, and she pretends not to know that it’s going to absolute crap.

“You already know.”

“Humor me.”

The agent shrugs, but doesn’t say anything. Natasha decides to drop it too. No useless chatter than.

“Afghanistan?”

The agents looks up, “What are you talking about?”

“Where you were stationed in the army. Afghanistan?”

Blue eyes harden in a way Natasha should have expected, “I don’t talk about that.”

“That’s a bad coping mechanism.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

They lapse into another silence. When her coffee is finished off, the agent doesn’t stand up. She just grabs the bottle of liquor and pours a too generous amount in her mug, forgoing the coffee this time.

“Everywhere they could send me.” She says eventually, “Iraq, Afghanistan, Rwanda.”

Natasha nods. She’s seen her fair share of wars, she’s seen genocides and their aftermath. She knows how the death follows you around, sticks to your skin like a bandaid you can never rip off. It becomes a part of you.

“You survived. You came back.”

The agent shakes her head, “Did I?”

Natasha doesn’t know what to say to that. Of course she didn’t come back. Not the way she left at least. War changes people, even if she survived, a part of her died wherever she fought.

“I don’t talk about it.” The agent repeats. So they don’t. They sit in silence in the breakroom until long after their mugs are empty.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s two weeks before Agent Blue Eyes comes back. Two long weeks of laying in her bunk at night, staring at the ceiling and wondering why the hell she can’t sleep.

When Blue Eyes finally gets back to the carrier, Natasha finds herself waiting in their breakroom well before 3.

She makes the coffee herself this time, debating on whether or not to add a splash of the bourbon she brought especially for this night. She decides to just leave the bottle on the table, letting the agent decide for herself.

At three on the dot, Agent Blue Eyes walks in. She doesn’t seem surprised to find Natasha there waiting for her. She nods her head once, a weary smile on her face in shrill contrast to the long gash on her cheek. It’s the first time Natasha has seen her smile.

“Yours.” Natasha points out the mug on the table, “Bourbon if you want.”

Agent Blue Eyes shakes her head, “Painkillers.”, she picks up the mug, slapping a manila folder onto the table in its place.

Natasha raises an eyebrow.

“My personnel file.”

“You carry that around with you for fun?”

Blue Eyes smirks, “Read it.”

“Why?”

“Because,” She takes a long sip from her coffee, “I don’t talk about it.”

“I don’t need to know.”

“I don’t talk about it.” She repeats, “But you’re a spy. You will find out. And I’d rather you learn on my terms.”

Natasha ponders that for a bit. Her first instinct is to call the agent out on being a control freak. But then she wonders if this is on her. Did she push too hard with her questions about the military? Did she do something wrong?

“Maria…” the name feels weird falling from her lips, “I only want to know what you’re willing to share.”

“I never told you my name.” The agent says calmly, “And that’s exactly my point. I don’t want to find out two months from now that you are digging around in my past. So there it is.” She motions to the folder, “Take it. I’m willing to share.”

She puts the mug down with a loud clank. Natasha isn’t sure if mugs slamming into tables are always that loud or if Maria is frustrated. She can’t read her stoic expression.

“Why?”

Maria shrugs, “You’re not political. Goodnight agent Romanoff.”

 

* * *

 

 

Maria is waiting for her. Natasha is early tonight and yet Maria is already there, waiting with the coffee ready.

“Your file.” Natasha drops it on the table, and then drops a second one, “And mine.”

Maria looks surprised, “I don’t need your file.”

“I didn’t need yours.” Natasha counters, “I didn’t read it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to read it. I want to hear it from you.”

“I don’t talk about it.”

“What do you talk about?” Natasha asks, “What do you _want_ to talk about?”

“I…”

“I know you’re still off duty. Tomorrow. Lunch at the canteen.”

“Why?”

“To talk. About anything.

“Why?” Maria wonders.

“You’re not political to me either.”

 

 


End file.
